


devil's backbone

by WeeBeastie



Series: night verse [3]
Category: Black Sails
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Oral Fixation, Oral Sex, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-15
Updated: 2017-07-15
Packaged: 2018-12-02 15:58:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11512674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WeeBeastie/pseuds/WeeBeastie
Summary: oh lord, oh lord, what do i do? i've fallen for someone who's nothing like youhe's raised on the edge of the devil's backbone, i just wanna take him home





	devil's backbone

**Author's Note:**

> Part 3 is here woo! This is what happens when I take some random ideas I've had for this universe and kinda...string them all together into a fic.
> 
> Title and lyrics taken from "Devil's Backbone" by The Civil Wars because it is excellent and I feel like it really suits this version of Silver. More of his backstory is revealed in this part and I'm excited to share it with y'all!
> 
> Rated E for some heavy petting and a blowjob. There's also angst of course, because of Silver's backstory, and a bit of fluff to balance it out.
> 
> Also they can both talk to/understand John's cat Sookie, because vampires.
> 
> Thanks to my two cheerleaders El and Elle for their continuing support! <3

“Out. In. Out. In. In...come on, John, you can do it. Concentrate. In.”

Silver huffs, then frowns in concentration, willing himself. He wants to do what Flint’s asking for; he wants to make him happy.

Finally his fangs pop back up into his mouth, disappearing with the softest of strange, slippery noises.

“Good! Very good,” Flint says, leaning in to kiss Silver like he's rewarding him. 

Silver’s fangs immediately pop out again.

“...we’ll keep working on it,” Flint says when he pulls back, chuckling.

“What else should I be working on?” Silver asks around his large fangs, putting them away with great difficulty. He and Flint are sitting close on the couch downstairs, having just started their evening. Flint has to go to the Jolly Roger later on and put in an appearance, but Silver has yet to decide yet if he'll go too or not.

“Hmm. You need to work on your etiquette for biting - always get consent, always make sure the person knows what they're agreeing to. You could also try to practice hypnotizing someone, although that's a little advanced,” Flint says. “You can't hypnotize other vampires, just humans. I personally don't like doing it, but it is a valuable skill to have. You can practice on the humans at the club tonight.”

Silver nods, considering. “I’m not sure I'll go with you tonight...I was actually thinking I'd just stay home, find something to watch on Netflix,” he says. He hasn't showered or put on any real clothes yet, and the idea of just lounging at home in his underwear is very appealing.

“Oh, really? That's a shame, because I was thinking there's something I haven't done in a little while that I'd really like to do. But it involves you being at the club with me, so...” Flint says, and there's a seductive rumble to his voice that has Silver suddenly feeling rather interested.

“What might that be?” Silver asks, leaning close to Flint, nuzzling behind his ear and inhaling the scent of him.

“Fool around in my office,” Flint purrs, his hand sliding up Silver’s good leg from his knee to his thigh.

“I’ll go put on pants,” Silver says, getting up from the couch in a rush, Flint’s laughter following him upstairs.

They leave about an hour later, and Silver can't seem to take his eyes off Flint. He's wearing a pretty boring black shirt (not like Silver’s, which has the sleeves torn out and says ‘monster’ in sequined letters across the front), but his pants are - well, they ought to be illegal. They're black leather, they look expensive, and they way they hug his thighs is enough to make Silver have to adjust himself in his own ripped, ratty jeans.

Flint glances over and Silver’s pretty sure he sees him smirking, the devil.

“You look really hot in those. Is this a test? Because I'm just barely keeping my fangs in check right now, let me tell you,” Silver says as Flint parks the car and they head in the back door of the club together.

“I'm afraid I don't know to what you're referring,” Flint says airily, and Silver groans, simultaneously wanting to fuck Flint and maybe also hit him really hard. He follows him as he makes his rounds through the club, mesmerized by the sight of Flint’s ass in those leather pants. Finally they end up in Flint’s office, and Silver immediately slams the door shut, crowding Flint up against it.

“Fucking hell, you're some kind of tease,” Silver growls in Flint’s ear, grasping him by the hips. He means to get them both naked, or at least partially undressed, but instead he starts just rubbing up on Flint fully clothed, thrusting helplessly against him. He can feel that his fangs have come out in full force, but he doesn't care, he's so overcome by lust. He feels _wild_.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” Flint purrs at him, apparently approving of Silver’s wanton behavior. “My poor boy, I really worked you up, didn't I?” he whispers, sounding altogether too pleased with himself.

Silver just moans and thrusts harder against him in response, grinding on one of Flint’s impressive thighs. He hasn't gotten off from just rubbing against someone while clothed in a long time, but he thinks it just might be about to happen.

He sinks his fangs into Flint’s neck as he gets close, and yes, _yes_ \--

At Flint’s back, the door creaks and groans alarmingly. Suddenly it splinters and gives way under their combined weight and strength, spilling them both out on to the floor of the mezzanine level, Silver on top of Flint. Right at the feet of one Jack Rackham.

Jack blinks at them, frowns just a touch, and delicately steps around them. “I’m going to need a raise, Captain,” he calls over his shoulder as he saunters away.

Flint tries to move out from under Silver, but Silver stops him with a hand on his shoulder. “Do you still have a pair of my sweatpants in your office?” he asks lowly, looking down at him sheepishly. He's infinitely glad they both have such sensitive hearing; he wouldn't want to have to shout about his problem over the loud music.

“I do, yes...why?” Flint asks, frowning at Silver in confusion as he awkwardly clambers off Flint and gets to his feet, shuffling backward into the office with his hands in front of himself at crotch level.

“...I came,” Silver admits, ducking his head to hide his incredibly embarrassed expression from Flint. He doesn't need him to see just how mortified he is and gloat about it.

“Really?” Flint asks, grinning wolfishly. Too late, he's already gloating. Stupid ginger sex god.

“Quit looking so damn pleased with yourself and come stand in the doorway so I can at least pretend to have some privacy while I change clothes,” Silver gripes, feeling like he's blushing even though he's not entirely sure he can still do that.

Later, after Flint has gloated some more and Silver has changed and they've both carefully cleaned up the splinters of the door they broke, Silver leaves Flint talking animatedly with a slightly tipsy Max about the importance of gay and lesbian solidarity and goes outside to practice his hypnotism skills on the humans waiting in line to get in.

Then he sees Billy.

“Good evening Mr. Bones!” Silver carols, beaming. Oh, this will be _fun_.

“My last name isn't Bones,” the overly large bouncer says flatly in reply, already glaring down at Silver. “It’s Manderly. And what the fuck do you want?”

“Well, mine isn't Silver, but you don't see me being all ice queen about it,” Silver mutters, then leans in close, looking deep into Billy’s eyes. Here goes nothing. “I have some news for you, William Manderly. You've been under the impression that you're a human being, but you're mistaken. You are, in fact, a chicken. I'm gonna need you to flap your wings for me and maybe make some chicken noises, to show me you understand. Can you do that?”

Billy just stares back for a long moment, then tucks his fists against his armpits and starts waving his bent elbows up and down like wings. He also starts making soft ‘bock-bock-bock’ noises under his breath.

Silver laughs so hard he has bloody tears running down his face, and this is the scene Flint arrives to: Billy scratching at the sidewalk with one foot and making a truly impressive ‘rr-rr-rr-rr-RRRR!’ noise, and Silver giggling with such wild abandon that he gets the hiccups.

“John. Please tell me why my bouncer thinks he's a chicken,” Flint intones, not looking anywhere near as amused as Silver feels.

“You told me I should practice my hypnotism, so...” Silver says when he can speak, wiping the reddish tears of mirth from his face. 

Flint sighs exaggeratedly and turns to Billy, looking deep into his eyes. “You. Are not. A chicken.”

Billy snaps out of the trance, looking a little confused. He goes back to work like nothing's happened while Flint takes Silver by the arm and hauls him bodily away from the club, to where he parked the car.

“He’s just so fun to fuck with! He's completely humorless. That was funny, right? Wasn't it? Just a little?” Silver asks, grinning at Flint as they get in the car together.

“No more fucking with Billy, he's a decent enough employee and he doesn't deserve your trickery,” Flint says, although Silver thinks he can hear a note of amusement in his voice just the same.

Silver smirks, sliding down in his seat a little and watching Portland pass by outside the window. “I’ve been thinking about changing up my tongue jewelry,” he offers as a conversational gambit, then sticks his tongue out playfully at Flint.

“You can't,” Flint says, glancing over.

“What, why? Are you so attached to this one?” Silver asks. It's a fairly typical barbell through his tongue, but the visible end is floral print with the word ‘fuck’ written on it in elegant black script.

“I mean you physically can't, not unless you want to re-pierce your tongue. As soon as you take the jewelry out, the piercing will close,” Flint says with finality in his voice.

Silver is about to ask how he's so sure about that, then remembers that Flint has one ear pierced. Right. That'd be how. “Oh,” he says quietly, a little disappointed. “I don't really want it pierced again, the once was enough.”

“How long have you had it pierced?” Flint asks, and Silver can tell he's deliberately keeping his tone casual and light, the way he always does when he's asking Silver about his past. Silver can see through it, of course, but he indulges him this time.

“Um, since I was 15, so...thirteen years, I guess,” Silver says, clicking the jewelry against the backs of his teeth out of habit. He remembers the day vividly, viscerally - his cousin, the younger of the two but still six years Silver’s senior, sitting on him to keep him still while a friend of theirs pierced Silver’s tongue in the back room of his pool hall-slash-dive bar. They'd given Silver a little moonshine beforehand, and his cousin - normally a man of few words - had crowed about how pleased he was that Silver at his tender age could hold his drink like a grown man. The pain of the piercing was unreal, and the taste of his blood in his mouth combined with the buzz from the illicit liquor made him want to be sick. But he had pushed all that down and said something sarcastic like ‘was that it?’, and then his cousin had cackled, drawling proudly that the men of their name were tough motherfuckers, even the young ones.

“Speaking of your new body and all its vagaries, I've made you an appointment with Dr. Darling for tomorrow evening. Just a checkup, she wants to make sure your leg is doing well,” Flint says, interrupting Silver’s backwoods reverie.

“She?” Silver echoes, confused. “The last time we saw Dr. Darling, he was a man. He transitioning or something?”

“No, different Dr. Darling. This one is his daughter. They run the practice together, and she's started taking on more of his patients as he gets closer to retiring,” Flint explains.

“Huh. Well, that's okay, I suppose,” Silver says, even though he's not wild about the idea of another doctor seeing him. He was raised with a healthy distrust of authority figures - law enforcement primarily, but also social workers, well-meaning teachers, and basically anyone who might've taken notice of a boy like him and been rightfully concerned. Doctors and dentists were on that list, too, and he hasn't quite been able to shake the feeling of unease he gets around them.

“You’ll like her, she's closer to your age,” Flint says as he parks in the driveway and gets out of the car. Silver follows him into the house in silence, his thoughts stuck in another time, another place.

They go to bed together as dawn approaches, and when Silver sleeps, he dreams vividly of his childhood home in Georgia and of his cousins who raised him, if letting a boy tag along with you because his mother’s lost her mind and you're kin to his dead father counts as raising him. He dreams of them the way they looked when he was a teenager, just before he left home - narrow-eyed and vicious, both of them, like wolves. He was a wolf then too, like them. He dreams of the younger sitting astride him, pinning him with his warm, solid weight while Silver gets a needle through his tongue. He dreams of being around a bonfire in the woods with them both and their lowlife friends later that night, getting drunk off something homemade and foul, feeling utterly invincible.

His dreams are so real, he wakes up the next evening with the scent of woodsmoke in his nose, the turpentine burn of bootleg liquor in his throat, and a raspy laugh echoing in his ears, a voice long lost to him saying _I told you Dixons was tough motherfuckers, even the young’uns_.

 

\---

 

Silver can't help but feel anxious on the way to the doctors’ office. He stares out the window and fidgets, twisting the hem of his shirt in his hands. He can feel Flint glancing over at him curiously on the ride over, but he doesn't offer any explanation. He can't, really.

Finally they pull up outside the office and Silver almost wants to start hyperventilating, despite not needing to breathe anymore. He follows Flint reluctantly inside, feeling like an old dog about to stare down the vet.

“I don't remember you being this nervous the last time we came here,” Flint says after he checks in with the receptionist, the two of them sitting side by side in uncomfortable plastic chairs in the waiting room.

“I just hid it better then. Besides, last time I didn't really have any other options - no doctor, no robot leg,” he replies, running one hand self-consciously over the lightweight metal prosthetic that now makes up the lower half of his left leg. It's hidden beneath his jeans, but he knows it's there, and a part of him feels like other people can tell, too. Like they're staring at him because he's a weirdo with one leg, even though Flint has assured him his gait is very natural and the leg isn't noticeable at all as long as he's wearing pants.

“John?” the purple-haired nurse says, smiling at Silver when he stands. “Come on back with me,” she says. Silver looks helplessly at Flint, needing him to be there, too. 

“Is it alright if I come back as well? I'm his maker and he's very new to all this,” Flint says, and either he can read minds and hasn't told Silver, or he just knows him that well.

“Of course,” the nurse says. She leads them back to a little exam room where the walls are painted a soothing light blue and there are all kinds of pamphlets in a plastic display stand on the counter: Sunlight & You; Fangs: Ouch! How To Cope; and Silver’s personal favorite, So You’ve Become Immortal - Now What?

Silver strips down to his underwear and settles on the exam table after the nurse leaves the room, fiddling with the crinkly paper underneath him. “Thanks,” he says without looking at Flint, knowing he'll understand what he's thanking him for.

There's a soft knock at the door and then the other Dr. Darling steps in. She looks young, and has platinum blonde hair in a sharp bob, fashionable dark plastic-frame glasses, and a small silver hoop in one nostril. “Hi there, I'm Dr. Liana Darling. You must be John, and I'm guessing this is James?” she says, smiling at both of them, and okay, she doesn't seem _too_ threatening. She even smells good, like something sweet and familiar. Maybe this won't be as bad as he'd feared.

“Yeah, hi,” Silver says, shifting and making a face as the paper rustles audibly beneath him.

“How're you doing, John? Feeling good, adjusting okay to the new life?” Dr. Darling asks. “Remove your prosthesis for me, if you please.”

“I guess. I mean, I like being immortal but I miss real food, and the sun. Plus I don't have great control of my fangs just yet,” Silver says. He huffs and takes off his false leg, then the garment he wears underneath to help protect his skin, resolutely not looking at the stump. He avoids looking at it when at all possible, truthfully. He has other scars of course, the ones from his previous life, but they don't bother him quite like the absence of his leg and the ugly stump that remains.

“Your skin looks a little irritated - is it hurting you? We can always adjust the prosthesis so it fits you better, it shouldn't hurt you to wear it,” Dr. Darling says, gently touching Silver’s leg with her warm hands. She's careful and respectful, but his skin crawls just the same, like it always does when anyone but Flint touches his left leg or even looks at it for too long.

“It’s fine, it doesn't hurt me,” Silver lies. He just wants to get his clothes back on and get out of here. “Besides, it's not like it matters. Even if it was hurting me, my leg would heal pretty much immediately anyway, wouldn't it? Isn't that one of the perks of this whole vampire deal?”

“It would,” she allows, “but I still don't want you to be in unnecessary pain. I know from your records that otherwise you're doing remarkably well for someone who was in such a traumatic accident so recently.”

“Pain is one hell of a teacher,” Silver mutters almost before he realizes he's said it, repeating words he heard over and over growing up.

Fortunately, the doctor doesn't reply to that. “You’ve got quite a lot of other scarring on this leg, too - are those cigarette burns?” she asks, indicating the series of small, round scars on Silver’s left thigh. They're obviously old, faded whitish-pink with age.

“Yeah,” Silver says, squirming uncomfortably under the weight of her gaze. He's almost wishing he hadn't asked Flint to come into the exam room with him now. He hadn't expected the doctor to ask about - those.

He manages to get through the rest of the appointment without incident, though, and then he and Flint are back in the car, going home.

“You ought to let her fix the leg, if it's hurting you,” Flint says, and Silver leans forward to turn up the car stereo in response. “You know you're not the only one who's been through difficult things,” Flint tries, raising his voice over the music, and Silver groans softly. “You can tell me, it's not like I'll judge you.”

Silver glances over at him, wondering. If he did tell Flint, if he told him everything - wouldn't Flint start seeing him differently, no matter what nice, comforting words came out of his mouth? Wouldn't he look at Silver the way people used to when he was a dirty hungry barefoot child, with pity and a little disgust? Wouldn't he, consciously or not, start to define Silver by who he used to be and where he came from and what all had happened to him? 

Those thoughts are decidedly untenable, so Silver just stays quiet. He can practically smell Flint’s disappointment.

When they get home, he changes into sweatpants and a t-shirt of Flint’s, curling up on the couch under an Adventure Time fleece throw blanket that he brought with him from his former apartment. He puts on Muppet Treasure Island because for some reason it always cheers him up, even though he thinks he's probably way too old for it now. To his surprise, Flint joins him on the couch after a little while, wearing just those soft cashmere pajama pants that make Silver want to do filthy things to him.

“Would you say this movie is an accurate depiction of piracy in the 18th century?” Silver jokes, putting his one foot in Flint’s lap. He took off his prosthetic when he curled up on the couch, needing a break from it.

Flint chuckles. “Not exactly. I mean, I never had a talking rat and a...whatever on my crew,” he says, gesturing to the TV screen.

“Tell me something about your life back then. Why'd you become a pirate, anyway? Were you born into it or did you choose it?” Silver asks, nudging his foot against Flint’s hand. Fortunately he takes the hint and starts massaging, making Silver sigh with happiness.

“I suppose you could say I chose it, although at the time it felt like the only option. I became a pirate out of love, and hatred,” Flint says, frowning a little as he digs his thumbs into the ball of Silver’s foot.

“Love for who? And hatred of what?” Silver asks, too curious for his own good. He always has been.

“Love for Thomas, who ultimately became my maker, and hatred of the country of my birth. I was in the Navy at the time we met, and he and I-- look, it's a long story, but the point is, England took him from me and so I went to war against her,” Flint says, and when he glances up and meets Silver’s gaze, it makes Silver shiver. “I got him back, eventually. Even though they told me he was dead, and told him the same of me.” He clears his throat and gives Silver’s foot a little pat. “Your turn. Tell me something about you from before I knew you. It doesn't have to be anything big.”

Silver sighs and considers it, wondering what he can tell Flint that won't change how he looks at him, if there even is anything that innocuous in his past. “You know that crossbow I have, the one you asked me if I knew how to use when we first met? That was my cousin’s, he gave it to me before I left home. We all used to hunt together. I ate squirrel,” Silver says with a little grin, remembering. 

“I didn't know you had so many useful skills - crossbow hunting, cooking wild animals,” Flint says with a smile, running his hand up Silver’s right leg.

“Oh, no, I'm a fucking terrible cook. I could hunt okay but if I was the one cooking, we all got sick, so eventually they just stopped letting me do it,” Silver recalls, laughing despite himself. “Luckily I have plenty of other marketable skills,” he says, wiggling his eyebrows at Flint. He shifts toward him on the couch, rearranging himself so he's lying on his stomach with his head resting on Flint’s thigh. “You know what these soft pants of yours make me feel like doing?” he asks, reaching for the drawstring where it's tied in a neat little bow.

“I can guess,” Flint says quietly, his hand resting on the back of Silver’s head. “Go on,” he purrs, and Silver can feel his fingers twining in his curls.

“You sure you trust me after the...incident...last time?” Silver asks, slipping one hand into Flint’s pants and drawing his cock out slowly, licking him teasingly.

Flint hisses softly and his fingers tighten in Silver’s hair. “This is why we've been practicing your fang control. Show me what you've learned,” he rumbles, and Silver moans softly in response.

“Yes, sir,” he says, then gets his mouth on Flint, one hand at the base of his cock and the other braced on his thigh. He focuses on keeping his fangs in check, even as he can feel himself getting worked up from sucking Flint off. He unabashedly loves this, being able to reduce Flint to begging and pleading with just his mouth. He loves the taste of him, too, and loves taking him deep enough in his throat that his eyes water with it.

“God, John,” Flint moans, and when Silver glances up, he's treated to the sight of Flint with his head tipped back and his fangs out in full force, his eyes closed. He's the picture of ecstasy. Silver redoubles his efforts, pulling back with an obscenely wet noise to run his tongue all over his cock, sucking on just the head for a moment before diving back down and taking him deep. He loses himself a little in the bliss of it, in the way it feels to have Flint’s cock on his tongue and down his throat while he sucks him off like he's the only thing that matters.

He hears Flint curse above him and feels him starting to tense, so he swallows around him, encouraging. His eyes are streaming now and he feels fortunate he doesn't need to breathe anymore - it makes it that much easier for him to do this, to do what he loves. He slides one hand up Flint’s chest and pinches his nipple, and is rewarded with Flint shouting in surprise and going off like a shot, coming down Silver’s throat so suddenly he barely has time to pull back and get a taste of him.

When Flint is finished, Silver pulls off him and carefully climbs astride his lap, getting his hand into his own pants and jerking himself off quickly. It's not going to take him long to finish, he can tell, he got so hard just from blowing Flint. Then Flint bats his hand away and takes over, stroking Silver’s cock with a sure, strong grip. Silver keens and slumps forward, resting his forehead on Flint’s shoulder as he comes all over his stomach, whimpering in satisfaction. He's always been almost overly sexual, has always been one to enjoy finding pleasure under his own hand or someone else’s, but since he was turned his orgasms have become fucking _phenomenal_.

Flint mumbles something to him after a moment but Silver can't quite make it out, too overwhelmed still from the abundant pleasure. “Hmm?”

“Good boy,” Flint says and then he's enfolding Silver in his arms, holding tight to him, apparently heedless of the mess Silver made between them.

“A part of me wants to be annoyed at you calling me ‘boy,’ but the rest of me is too turned on by the daddy act to care,” Silver murmurs hoarsely, nuzzling Flint’s neck and nipping him lightly, just enough to get a taste - his fangs must've come out at some point when he wasn't paying attention. So much for control, but at least he didn't accidentally bite Flint this time.

Flint snorts at him quietly. “Come on then, my boy. Dawn is swiftly approaching and we need to get to bed.”

Later, once they've both cleaned up and gotten into the bed, Silver lies in Flint’s arms with his head on his chest, thinking. “You know something? I was looking for my floral pants to wear to the doctor’s office earlier, and it's the strangest thing, I couldn't find them anywhere.”

“Hmm,” Flint rumbles, sounding like he's trying to sound innocent.

“So I asked Sookie cat and she said ‘Captain put ‘em in the trash, told me don't tell John,’” Silver says, doing a pitch-perfect imitation of the cat’s soft, dulcet Southern-fried voice.

“Dammit,” Flint says under his breath, and Silver just laughs.

“You’re gonna buy me a new pair tomorrow,” Silver murmurs sleepily, and when he dreams, this time it's all Flint.


End file.
